A Second Chance
by It'sPastMyBedtime
Summary: "More than eighty years had passed since Carlisle had found Esme, and yet he still looked at her with those incredulous eyes of first love. It would always be that way for them." A series of short stories exploring the lives and love of Doctor and Esme Cullen, and their family. Told through a poet attempting to practise her creative writing.
1. New York

**_A/N: A warm welcome to anybody that happens to stumble upon this collection of short stories. Regarding context, I am currently studying English Literature at university and am using this project as a way of practising my creative writing. Any suggestions as far as technique or plot would be hugely appreciated!_**

 ** _The stories will mainly centre around Carlisle & Esme, as they have a special place in my heart, however, I'm sure other characters will appear throughout! _**

**_Lastly, as I'm sure you're all aware, the character's belong fully to Stephenie Meyer. I'm just using them to play with:)_**

 _New York, September 1997_

'What do you think?'

The young woman laughed mischievously, eyebrows arched with inquisition.

Carlisle's golden gaze lifted from the journal in front of him and to Esme, his breath hitching in his throat. His wife looked disconcertingly young in the dusk sunlight which beamed through their bedroom window; caramel waves glowing, spidery stockinged legs attached to pointed heels, dress exposing toned thighs, lips painted a deep red and curved into a smirk.

'I think..would you be terribly mad if I were to forbid you from leaving the house looking this irresistible?'

Esme took a seat on her husband's lap with the grace of a ballerina, ghosting his jaw with her mouth. Her dress riding up just enough to flash red lace. 'You don't make the rules.'

 _His Esme. Always the surprise._

Doctor Cullen swelled with internal pride at moments like this, his heart amazed at the ways in which his wife had grown. Years of abuse had deeply affected Esme, and those early years had been tough. Her timidness had been heartbreaking, Carlisle had hated her tendency to flinched from his touch.

Throughout their marriage, he had taught Esme that love was nothing so cruel and vicious, and over time she had grown into a vivacious and confident woman. Of course, these qualities had always been inside the women he loved, it just took his love and patience to tease them out.

Pulling his wife close, he grazed her cheek with his knuckle. Amber eyes locked onto hers.

'I don't. You're right.' And then, sighing gently, 'You're going to be the centre of attention tonight, darling.' His lilt flowed with affection, but Mrs Cullen knew her husband well enough to detect a hint of well-concealed jealousy.

'Don't get jealous before we even leave the house, Doctor. The only attention I could ever want is yours.'

Grudgingly, he allowed Esme to style his blonde waves to her liking, finding her scrutinising eyes sinfully endearing. Her exasperated sigh was so..feminine as she leant back, her weight shifting across his lap.

'It keeps falling down. I can't make it stand up!'

 _On the contrary, dear._

Carlisle considered persuading his lover to miss the evening's plans, his mind creating an embarrassingly intricate list of enticing techniques. However, the doctor firmly decided that his wife would enjoy socialising too much to take it away from her. Besides, attending the occasional party was a necessary part of maintaining his facade to his colleagues; the Doctors at his hospital were beginning to doubt whether the infamous Mrs Cullen existed at all.

Eventually, after making clandestine promises and utilising careful coercion, Esme managed to pry her husband from their bedroom. Upon leaving, Alice was most insistent on taking enough photographs to fill an entire art gallery. The couple fought her gently, though secretly Carlisle loved having photographs of his wife to decorate his office; the walls would be brimming with Esme's glowing smile if the Doctor had his way.

Edward kissed Esme gently on the cheek and whispered something which Carlisle couldn't quite hear, inspiring a stab of pointless jealousy and subsequent 'eye roll' from his son.

...

Eventually, Carlisle's Mercedes left the driveway with a purr and the man found himself breaking into an involuntary grin, after such a long and treacherous day he finally had his wife all to himself.

'Are we almost there?' She quizzed, interrupting the smooth music as she slowly began to fidget in the passenger seat with impatience.

The sun was setting now, the sky scandalous shades of scarlet and tangerine.

'Close.' Carlisle placed a firm hand on his wife's knee, leaning across the driver's seat to kiss her gently. 'Relax, darling.' Then, adding fondly, 'I'll be by your side the entire evening, I promise.'

Esme smiled. That heartbreakingly familiar lopsided smirk which instantly reminded Carlisle of that teenage farm girl in Ohio, all those years ago.

She was the abridged version of all the love letters he had ever written. Beautifully concise and impossible to resist.

The bar was decadent and impressive - it was unsurprising that New York's most successful doctors chose to meet here. Esme was incredible, attracting a faithful following of eyes from the bar with every movement. Carlisle counted five to be exact, two of which were colleagues. However, the Doctor had little resentment for the men, for he was just as helpless; his wife really did look breathtaking.

The wives of Carlisle's colleagues were hesitant of the beautiful woman at first, perhaps envious of her foreign beauty. Esme's easy charm and kindness ensured she was quickly accepted into the circle, even receiving several brunch invites. Carlisle was impressed when she managed to contribute to conversations with the names of local boutiques and designers, undoubtedly thanks to her preparation with Alice. The evening was a haze of whiskey and chatter, the novelty of the Cullen's recent move to New York and their abundance of travel stories ensuring they were fawned over by fellow guests.

Inevitably the golden eyes of the couple met across the table, his wife beckoning him to join her.

'I heard they have rooms upstairs. Why don't we stay the night?'

Her voice was silky, her fingers deft as they toyed with his tie. Doctor Cullen smiled slyly.

 _He'd thought of it first._

…

Esme's passionate lips locked with her husband's before the wooden door could slam shut. His back pressed against the wall. Breath gentle, yet impatient. Amber eyes pooled with lust.

 _How could Carlisle possibly resist those lips which searched so desperately for his?_

They settled on the floor; her delicate back arched against the wood. The room was lit with the gentle shimmering glow of the moon. Her hand reaching down, hitching up her skirt, His hand pulling her lace lingerie to one side. Lips locked and desperate to quench a dark thirst.

Soon bare legs wrapped around Carlisle's waist. His hips pushing hard onto her. Waves of caramel hair falling between pale skin.

The sounds of their love echoed around the hotel room.

 _…_

They found themselves, as they so often did, sprawled under the covers of an unmade bed. Their legs tangled together, as well as their hearts.


	2. Portland

Portland, _February 1937_

The snow continued to fall, whipped by a swirling vicious wind which rattled the wooden doors of the hospital. Mrs Cullen had been inconspicuous in her travel to greet her husband, walking through the quiet backroads with Edward who was desperate to escape the presence of the newlywed Rosalie and Emmett.

A gentle silence enveloped the pair, broken only by the crunching of their boots in the snow.

'They're insufferable, Esme. I've been trying to convince Carlisle to persuade them to move into a house of their own; I can't take it any longer!'

Esme laughed fondly, 'They're in love, darling.'

The young man rolled his eyes, shaking his head in exasperation. Esme wound a careful arm around Edward's shoulders; 'Let me talk to Carlisle, okay?'

The conversation was far more trivial for the remainder of their journey, Edward's sullen temperament was much improved with Esme's promise of a getaway, suggesting that the three of them should travel in order to give Rosalie and Emmett some much-needed peace. She loved her larger family, but the stress of two newborns had been draining and a part of her missed spending time with Carlisle and Edward.

As they approached the hospital, Edward left Esme with an embrace, confessing that he felt the need to hunt.

'Give Carlisle my love, I'll see you at the house.'

The harsh citrus blast of anti-septics stung the woman's nose as she made the delightfully familiar journey through the hospital and toward her husband's office.

Caramel waves rhythmically swung with each step Mrs Cullen took. Her golden eyes shone with a subtle happiness, her heart thudding gently in anticipation.

As she gently nudged open the heavy wooden door to her husband's office, she was at once utterly perplexed and humoured by the sight before her.

Never, in all their years of marriage, had she seen Carlisle this..flustered. His head was adorned with the unkempt waves that were only ever achieved through vigorous lovemaking, or his endearing tendency to tousle his hair with anxious hands. Naturally, Mrs Cullen assumed the latter.

However, her interest lay little in her husband, and more on the flailing infant in his arms.

'Goodness..'

At her entrance, Carlisle's golden eyes shifted to his wife.

'Esme, he won't stop crying.'

Doctor Cullen made no attempt to control the panic and urgency in his voice, and his wife's heart stirred with conflicting emotions; her eyes were gorgeously sympathetic..though she bit her lip as though to conceal laughter.

With a gentle smile, the woman took the child from her husband. She paused for the tiniest of moments, cat-like eyes focused on the unflinching blue stare of the child in her arms.

 _When was the last time she held a baby? Surely it must've been her own son..._

Sensing his wife's hesitation, Carlisle tenderly interrupted her thoughts, 'I think he likes you.'

Esme smiled in response, rocking the child as she had done with her own son. It came so naturally.

'There was an accident..the roads are so icy. We weren't able to save his parents..' His voice overflowed with quiet guilt.

'Carlisle, stop it.'

Mrs Cullen placed a kiss on her husband's temple, laving him with her gentle love. He loved her for this, for being so strong, right when he needed it most.

It was times like this that words weren't needed; it was almost like they were connected through their hearts. When one ached, it sent the strains of that ache to the other, like a soft thumping Morse code between distant shores.

…

Carlisle was smitten as he revealed in the scene before him.

His wife looked so irresistibly maternal here; gently bouncing the giggling child in her arms, humming the tune to a nursery rhyme Carlisle was unfamiliar with, lips quirked into a smile.

The child looked..captivated, his blue doe-eyes fixated on the woman before him.

'I feared this may be a terrible idea.' Carlisle confessed to the child, attempting to gently raise his natural tenor, 'My wife seems to be falling in love with you. And where is that going to leave me?'

Esme laughed and the baby quizzically watched them both, his face spiked with interest and mouth curved into a hesitant smile.

'Do you ever dream of what our child would be like?'

Doctor Cullen was not surprised at his wife's gentle question, but it felt more intimate in his small hospital office with the iron stare of an infant flitting between them. More dangerous.

'Yes, my love. All the time.'

'Tell me about it.' Esme's tender demand pulled his lips into a soft smile, her gaze unable to refuse.

'I'd like a son.' Carlisle's voice was raspier than he'd intended, 'My relationship with my father was troubled...I always told myself that I would use our mistakes to make myself a good father someday.'

 _Our mistakes_.

Esme's heart stirred at her husband's endearing tendency to include himself in the mistakes of others, he always carried a share of undeserved blame.

'You're a kind of father to Edward, darling.' And then, in a moment of hasty and vulnerable emotion 'But I'd give anything to see you holding our child.'

'Oh, darling..there is nobody else I'd rather for the mother of my child.'

Doctor and Mrs Cullen settled in a joint gaze, their eyes drowning. It was the child which snapped them from their trance, babbling emptily and tugging caramel hair with a chubby hand.

Carlisle laughed richly, the type of laugh that Esme longed to lock inside a treasure chest. It had been so long since she heard this laugh, things had been chaotic at home recently.

'Can't we keep him?' the woman inquired, with teasing golden eyes and a beautifully mischievous tone. 'No, darling.' Doctor Cullen kissed his wife's head gently, careful not to evoke another anguished cry from the baby. And then, in an attempt to make his wife laugh, 'He would never get any sleep with Edward's piano playing!'

…

The afternoon passed far too quickly, and Doctor Cullen did a shamefully small amount of work. The sky was dark by the time that the child's family arrived.

'You are so incredible with babies, nobody else could get him to stop crying!' The young nurse smiled cheekily, 'Can we expect a baby Cullen soon?'

Carlisle gently pulled his wife closer to him, wincing internally at the nurse's innocent question.

 _Oh, how he wished he could give his wife a child._

Surprisingly, Esme did not look saddened and rather bit her lip as though to hide an adoring smile.

'We have our hands full with Edward, I'd hate to deprive him of attention; we promised to take him travelling this year.'


	3. Ashland

Carlisle and Esme's first weeks as a couple

TW: Domestic abuse mentions

It's been on my mind for a little while now, to write something (short) that explores what Carlisle and Esme's first few months as a couple may have been like. I've worked with abuse survivors in the past, and I think that it is really important to challenge the preconceptions of abuse and what relationships after abuse may entail. These relationships require patience and hard work from both people, and lot's of survivors may feel unfair expectations to heal right away. I hope that this perhaps raises some awareness of the issue.

Lot's of love, I'd love to hear your thoughts x

She sat in the library for hours a day, thinking. Esme knew that Carlisle would never do anything bad to her, but her imagination was limited; she was incapable of conceiving a relationship which didn't end with being shouted at and hit and kicked. Wasn't it very possible, she asked herself, that she could push even somebody as good as Carlisle to that inevitability? Wasn't it forgone that she would inspire that hatred from even Carlisle Cullen? Was she so greedy for his love that she would ignore the lessons her history had taught her?

But even then, the quietest of voices had argued back. You can trust him. Carlisle isn't Charles; he would never do that. Not for anything. You love him for this.

And when she had tired of her time in the library, he would be waiting for her. In the leather armchair of his office, or sitting in the garden with Edward. He would always greet her with that same beautiful smile, pulling her close by her arms and kissing her gently on the cheek. In those first few weeks, Esme couldn't bring herself to initiate contact with Carlisle, nor ask for it, though she waited for it patiently. Becoming increasingly fond of those tender and innocent touches.

On the first night they shared a bed together, on Carlisle's promise that he would teach her the meditation that he had learnt during this travels and how it made him feel as refreshed as he imagined humans felt after a good nights sleep, they found themselves gently pressed against each other. Carlisle's right arm tucked under her neck and across her shoulders, his legs tangled with hers. Esme found herself beginning to crave Carlisle's affectionate physicality, which was so easy and natural and new.

One night however, as their nightly meditative routine was still recently established, Carlisle missed this crucial step and Esme worried that she had done something wrong. The next morning, as soon as the sun had risen enough to light their room in a delicate haze, she asked Carlisle if he was upset with her, and Carlisle, looking surprised, said of course not.

'I just wondered,' she'd began to stammer, 'because last night you didn't-' she was far too embarrassed to finish her sentence.

But then she saw Carlisle's handsome expression become clear, as he rolled softly onto his side and wrapped his arms around her delicate frame. 'This?' He'd asked, to which Esme gently nodded. 'It was only because last night was so warm.' Esme waited for Carlisle's laughter, which never came. 'That's the only reason, darling.' And they had kissed, which Esme still had to do with her eyes open, to remind herself that it was Carlisle she was kissing, and not Charles. But this time she'd closed them and counted to three, and when she opened them again she was smiling so much that she worried she'd ruined the kiss, but Carlisle had only kissed her harder. Following that exchange, he had held her the same way every night.

In those first few weeks Esme had been constantly pitting what she knew of Carlisle against what she'd learnt to expect from somebody who desired her. As if she somehow expected that the Carlisle she knew would be replaced with another, as though there was a different Carlisle for what was now different relationship.

It took Esme almost three weeks to muster the courage to ask Carlisle to replace the oil paints she had used. Her favourite colours had been emptied embarrassingly quickly and without painting to occupy her, she quickly sank into the thoughts that she usually reserved for when she was alone in the library. It was a Sunday morning, and Esme was suspicious that Edward had mentioned this to Carlisle, as he returned from the hospital with a heavy wooden box of painting supplies. She had almost cried; and had apologised and apologised until Carlisle had to all but beg her to stop. He was forced to reassure her five times, promising that he wasn't mad at all and that he would've gladly bought her an entire stores worth of oil paints had he known she enjoyed painting this much. Edward eventually intervened, easing the tension of the room by suggesting that the three of them spend the evening painting together.

It was less than a week later when they found themselves, as they often had in those early days, under their new favourite tree. Esme's head on Carlisle's shoulder as he read to her from a book she had shyly chosen in his office. After days of summoning enough courage, the young woman coyly leaned across and kissed Carlisle. It was the first time in her life that she had ever initiated such a kiss, and Esme hopes that with it she is conveying to Carlisle everything that she cannot say; everything she is ashamed of and everything she is grateful for. This time, she keeps her eyes closed for the entirety, imagining that someday soon, she too will be able to go wherever Carlisle goes when they kiss.


End file.
